


The consequence is coming, I still have yet to learn

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: (eh it's a solid guess that all my characters are bi), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Bi!Loki, Bi!Sif, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Multi, Not Infinity War compliant, Pan!Loki, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: A Post-Ragnarok Sifki story? Why, you may ask? Why not?Another day. Another day he would be able to face the consequences of his actions. Another day he could look into her eyes and give her back the warrior’s life.Just not today.





	The consequence is coming, I still have yet to learn

 

 

 

_Synthpop._ A fusion of two words that were themselves abbreviated. Synthesizer. Popular. Neither elongated word on its own could encapsulate the whole that was _synthpop._

The bus was half full, so that no one need stand. Loki chose to, balancing on the top step, gazing out over the front of the bus. No one took notice of the tall dark stranger with his white earbuds emitting soothing electronic noise. Humans could so easily be fooled by a simple imperative: _look away._

Two more stops. A heavy set woman eased her way to the back of the bus, and Loki shimmered unseen out of her path. One did not need otherworldly sight to see she was not long for the world. There, happy Thor? Not entirely wicked.

Little concessions meant nothing in the face of his crimes, Loki was well aware. It did provide him a zing of satisfaction, however, to imagine his watchers stymied by a harmless show of pity. _Humanity,_ they’d call it, and wasn’t that telling.

One more. Loki rubbed his palms on his black jeans.

Today wasn’t the day. He could feel it in the chilled air, in the prickle on his neck, the trembling beneath his skin. Still, he would not abandon this mission prematurely, not when merely beholding his prize was one of his few comforts. The iPod was a close contender.

The bus slowed to a stop, and Loki inhaled sharply. The doors shuddered open, and a man in a raincoat entered, followed by a young girl with tangled blonde curls. Loki glanced past them, waiting. An older woman, a gangly teen, and then… Her dark locks had been shorn short some time ago, but they never failed to set a pang through his chest. Not quite the bald head he’d once carved out of pettiness, now her black tresses fell just above her sharp chin.

She wore a light blue sweater, soft and warm, beneath a tight-fitting leather jacket. Around her neck was a hint of delicate gold chain that lead unseen down her chest. Her jeans were well worn, and Loki flicked his eyes back up. There was no idle smile on this cloudy morning, but she thanked the bus driver as she dipped her metrocard. Without a care she sauntered down the aisle, and the barest scent of her, leather and vanilla shampoo, reached him before Loki was in a coffee shop a mile away.

“Damn,” He swore aloud to himself, rubbing his temple. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Another day. Another day he would be able to face the consequences of his actions. Another day he could look into her eyes and give her back the warrior’s life.

Just not today.

 

* * *

 

She had acquiesced to the task of passing the aether off to the Collector without question. When she returned, he had already set the Warriors Three on reclaiming some lost prisoners. For her, he reserved Lorelei, and her hatred held her tongue for all but one protest.

“My king, as she is on Midgard, surely I may gain assistance from Thor.”

“No,” He had snapped with the quick ire of Odin, “I shall not risk my sole heir being ensnared by that sorceress. You of all should know of the danger she poses to the male sex.” The reminder bowed her head and she spoke no more.

It was far too soon when Sif returned with Lorelei collared and contained. Loki tapped his fingers upon the throne as she recounted the journey with bright eyes. S.H.E.I.L.D. was a spider with its far-reaching web, and Loki cursed them once more in hastening Sif’s return. Heimdal was growing alarmingly suspicious, and he knew Sif would never abide Odin banishing her brother. If any on Asgard could expose his secret, it would be Heimdal or Sif.

He occupied Sif and the Warriors Three with various quests, none too extreme, possessing just a plausible enough sense of urgency. When a quest arose on Midgard, he insisted on Sif forsaking S.H.E.I.L.D.’s assistance and blending in with the humans. That provoked the most insolence he’d witnessed since his ascension.

“The Agents have aided us without malicious intent! I am forbidden to involve Thor or the Avengers, for reasons you have not stated; why do you insist I undertake this task alone? Have I warranted punishment in any way?” Her eyes glinted as she bared her teeth up at him. “Do you take your feelings towards Loki out upon me?”

Gungnir hit the dais with a loud clang. “Enough! You do not speak that name!” His anger was not of Odin’s mask. He strode down the steps until he stood but one above her. “You dare make some declaration, now, long past the time of consequence?”

At last Sif bowed her head. “I know not what you mean, sire.”

“I speak of your relationship with my son.” He nearly smirked, but adjusted it into Odin’s glower. “The traitorous son. If you seek to claim him, you are centuries too late. Whatever boon you sought to gain by winning his regard is as lost as he.”

She raised her gaze which seemed to pierce right through his disguise. “I loved Loki for no boon, my king.” Unsettled, Loki turned with a swish of his cape and climbed back to his throne.

He spoke without facing her. “You have proven yourself Asgard’s fiercest warrior. My directives are not intended to punish you. I have scryed much danger on Midgard, their warriors spur on more and more powerful adversaries. I instruct you to trust no one, and ‘lay low’ as they say.”

“Yes, my king.” There was a spark there that he knew he could not douse. So Loki steeled himself for her return and what he must do.

Sif came to his throne room with much of her suspicion forgotten, reporting a rambling tale of memory loss that lead to her inadvertently disobeying his orders. Her unease telegraphed in her shifting feet, he would have suspected a lie from one more devious. Yet there had never been a deceitful bone in Sif’s body, not unless Loki argued incessantly with her to do so.

“You are pardoned for this error,” He decreed. “Yet in turn, Lady Sif, I shall need but a moment to examine your mind. I shall not have my best warrior running around Asgard addled.” The struggle was writ on her face. He could hear her protests as good as voiced: _surely the healers can check, not you; is my word of honor not enough; I do not trust you, Odin or no, to root inside my head._ However, Sif would always honor duty, and without cause she could not refuse him. Her nod was curt, and Loki swept down from the dais. The tip of the scepter, oh how familiar, pressed to her chest, and for a moment they were one. He was bare before her, and Sif’s eyes went wide.

“Lo—”

_Sleep._

He wove her a new life, a kind and honest lie. _Silva_ was raised in a happy home, both parents passed as she entered adulthood, and she relocated from the Netherlands to New York. She was confident and college-educated and pursued mixed-martial arts. She taught women how to defend themselves. She loved dogs and poetry and tea with lemon.

He hadn’t the heart to remove her immortality nor strength, he couldn’t be as cruel as Odin had been to his crown prince. Instead he placed a mental block within her mind, so that she need never use super-human strength unless her own life were in peril. No harm would come to her, Loki vowed, Silva would be safe on Earth as Odin was safe in his geriatric cell.

What a fool he was.

 

* * *

 

12 days. For 12 days he slithered around her life, observing at the edges, never daring to get too close.

The 13th day he molded himself into a woman, lithe and soft and attired in green and black ‘athleisure’. Loki let herself in to the gym, bypassing the registrar, and took a place in the back of the studio. The wall length mirror gave a perfect view of Silva as she stretched. Her muscles rippled, very little hindered by the black sports bra. Loki hoped the blush on her cheeks could be explained away by the warmth in the studio.

“Alright class,” Silva’s voice rang out over the low hip-hop playing over the speakers. The cover she’d crafted of being an ex-patriot allowed a hint of her own cadence to peek through the American affectation. “I see we’ve got some new faces. I’ll tell you right now, I keep a fast pace, and if you can’t keep up, get out of the way.” She commanded the two-dozen women as effortlessly as she did battalions on the field. Loki imagined every woman, from the 20 year old married latina to the southern belle octogenarian, was at least partly infatuated with her. “We’re going to start with some shadow boxing, remember to keep your wrists stiff but your fingers loose. I’ll go through the hits now, keep track of the numbers ‘cause I’ll be calling them out quick.”

Silva fell into sparring stance that evoked the memory of endless days wrestling in the dirt ring. So often they had fought as youths, being of equal weight and form, until their preference of weapon separated them. Oh, Loki would occasionally bring daggers into the ring to match Sif’s double-bladed sword, but magic was not welcome by the warriors of Asgard. Sif had found many fools eager to challenge her, and Loki accepted the loss of partner graciously. Well… no, no he hadn’t. But it was a lie he liked.

“One, left jab. Two, right cross. Three, left hook. Four, right uppercut. Five, left uppercut. Got it?” Silva moved quickly through the moves in succession. Her hips and footwork were flawless. “One, two, three, four, and five. You’ll learn the simple combinations easily, like one-one-two, two-three-two, four-three-two, and five-three-two. A powerful right cross is always a good way to end a fight. Okay, let’s have the music up, and we’ll begin.”

She led the class through the routine as the bard Drake sang his ballad, Loki following along with little effort. Her entire focus was on Silva, her vivacious body, her freely swinging strands of hair, the adrenaline-blown pupils roving over her pupils. Every instance of being under that dark gaze made Loki want to teleport into a star, but she held firm, legs rooted to the floorboards as she performed the exercises. By the time they added kicks to the routines, Loki was fully invested on seeing it through; Silva was an excellent teacher.

“Amazing work, give yourselves a hand!” Silva clapped from the front after the last song faded out. The women stumbled to a halt, chests heaving, all coated in sweat. Merely two students had needed to stop early, and all had been pushed to their limits, save Silva and herself. Loki swept the black hair from her face and dared to glance at the front. The heated gaze she met there harkened back to nights in shadowed alcoves or under cover of tree canopy. Her heart seized. Was she discovered so soon?

The class broke apart with some chattering, and Loki’s half-hearted attempt to slink away with the rabble was forestalled by a hand on her elbow. “Hey,” Silva greeted, boldness unchanged, “I wanted to say hi.”

Loki blinked. “Hi,” She parroted. Her gaze threatened to dip from the sweaty clavicle to the firm, glistening abdomen below.

“You haven’t been to one of my classes before, have you?” The trainer persisted, dabbing at her neck with a towel. Mutely, Loki shook her head. “But I’ve seen you around, I think, yes?”

Silvertongue, they called her once, no longer. Loki shrugged, resting her fists on her hips as if to say, _I can’t help you._

“You seem familiar, in any case,” said Silva, glancing away. She went on, not noticing the surely wretchedly naked expression on Loki’s face, “So, first lesson, what did you think? You didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. You’ve trained before?”

“I, er,” She coughed, “Yes, I’ve done some fighting.” Any number of fragmented stories would have worked to bolster the lie, and yet Loki stood there, dumb as a babe.

“Cool.” That seemed to be all Silva had to say, as she gave Loki a pat on the shoulder far too reminiscent of Thor, and went on her way. Loki indulged in watching her walk for a second too long, and then teleported herself into Niagara Falls.

 

* * *

 

“Then Sif yet lives?” Thor had asked after the final tally of the Aesir population had been done. Loki, ever meticulous, had corrected the number by one.

His expression of indignation and hurt was only half fake. “Did you believe I took her head the day after my coronation? Yes, the peasants rejoiced as I drank of her blood, Fandral and Volstagg ate of her corpse, Hogun abstaining of course. It was a merry festival for all, I would have invited you, but it completely slipped my mind.”

Thor’s weary look was more wry than he expected. “You have tried killing her before, you can’t pretend it’s so outrageous.” Loki had another scathing reply, but Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “When Heimdal told me he lost sight of her on Asgard, I did hope it was one of your schemes. Where is she then, if not Asgard?”

He shrugged tightly. “Given how my last answer to that question was incorrect, I’ll reserve telling you until I’m certain. Somewhere in Midgard, unless things have gone horribly wrong.”

“This isn’t the time to place bets on things going right.” Thor scratched at his shorn hair, and Loki hid his wince. “You can find her though?”

“Obviously.”

“Then you could take the tesseract and get to Earth before us. You could bring her back here. The people would love to see one of their warriors still lives. Or,” He gathered speed and vigor, excited by his ideas, “You could take her to the Avengers and prepare Earth for our arrival.”

He raised his brows at his brother — _adopted_ brother. “You imagine the Avengers will welcome me on the word of a woman they’ve never met?”

“Lady Sif may speak for me, and they believe my word.”

“But they only have _my_ word that Sif speaks _your_ word.”

“But _her_ word—”

“No,” Loki cut through the nonsense, “I can find Sif and we shall determine the course of action ourselves. I cannot say how long this search will take. You know she and I can be... volatile.”

“I won’t wait up... Thank you, Loki... Brother.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks, and they’d barely talked. This wasn’t recalling a warrior, this was _adolescent flirting._ No, Loki’s pride could not suffer any more of this.

It was difficult to discern day from night in New York City, as the city burned brighter in the dark, and the people swarmed at every hour. Loki had observed that Silva did not tend to go out after her work was done, merely commuting back to her one-bedroom apartment. Yet the studio was surrounded by restaurants and bars, so when Silva shouldered her gym-bag and strode out onto the street, that was where she and Loki collided.

“Oh, shit,” Silva reached down to where Loki had landed, “I am so, so sorry.”

“No, please, the fault is mine,” Loki dusted off her black peacoat, gauging the guilt on the other woman’s face. A solid 7/10, very workable. Performing a double-take, Loki added, “You’re the teacher, from yesterday, Silvia, was it?”

“Silva,” She corrected, “And you were…”

Loki held out her hand, “Lucy. A pleasure.” Not surprisingly, Silva had a forceful handshake.

“I really am sorry if I hurt you, it isn’t like me to be unobservant.”

“No, truly, think nothing of it.” She stepped back, angling herself as if to disengage from conversation, then paused right before Silva could do the same. “Though it is fortunate to have caught you. Yesterday when we spoke I was... winded.” Her gaze dragged down Silva’s body, her shape not completely obscured by the winter clothes. The stiffening of her posture was something Sif used to do, when titillated and refusing to admit so. It brought a slight smile to Loki’s lips now. “I hoped for the opportunity to speak with you again.”

“Oh?” Silva said, tongue’s edge slightly sharp. Her head cocked to the left. “You didn't look like you needed any help. So… What did you want to say?”

So many things, Loki thought; you know not what you ask.

Coy, she tapped upon her lips, matte red, and said, “I can’t steal you away for a drink?.”

Pink tinged the other’s cheeks. “Ah, Lucy. I'm not sure that's, uh, appropriate.” Silva shifted her weight on her feet, unbalanced. “I don’t… really…”

Gently, Loki prodded, “See clients outside of work, or women?”

A good ploy, rewarded by Silva’s steady gaze. “Clients.”

“Well then, darling,” Her grin was quick and deadly as a viper, “I quit.”

 

* * *

 

It was on a rare occasion that Loki slipped Sif into his chambers. They lay in tangled sheets of the finest weave as moonlight from the open balcony bathed their glistening skin.

“You’re never doing that again,” Loki told her, his attempts at sternness belied by his quivering lips. Her mortification was far too funny.

“I _told you_ I didn’t know what I was doing! You insisted!”

"Surely you have ventured probing fingers within yourself, you need only go deeper—"

"A woman's cavern is naturally aided, yours..."

"Thus why I suggested using your tongue, dear Sif."

“Why you should desire _that_ is beyond me. I have never permitted a lover to touch so far afield, let alone commence with, with that... vulgarity.”

“You say so with such pride, considering where your mouth was mere moments ago.” She swatted him, but not badly enough to sting. “Our equipment has its differences, I’ll grant you. Had you more in common with your shield-brothers, you would understand.”

Her look of shock was mingled with avid curiosity that told him this was no dangerous truth. “No… you mean to tell me…” Loki nodded sagely, giving little away. “Then… does it not… hurt?” Her question was asked with innocence he recalled from when Volstagg had first sat the royal princes down and given them _the talk,_ as it was not fitting for either of their parents to do so. He and Thor had then reported every detail to Sif and Fandral so that they may puzzle out the mystery together. It would be half a century later that Loki truly understood the intricacies of fucking.

“Only if you want it to, or you’re doing it wrong. That’s true of most things.”

“So you’ve…” By mutual agreement, they had lain side by side, darting glances away from the ceiling. Sif abandoned the pretense and curled onto her side, staring up at his profile. No doubt she could see his throat work to swallow as he measured his words.

He could lie, obviously, and say no; claim only an academic’s interest in what went on between men in the dark. He could spin a lewd tale and laugh it off as a joke when her face turned maroon. He could even… tell the truth, for no reason other than to have a confidante. Even if she decried him as a degenerate, he could disprove and ruin her with the mere fact that she’d bedded him.

But… there was one thing he’d always wondered…

“My lady,” Loki purred, twisting so they saw eye to eye, “So impertinent. You ask if I have taken a lover of my sex? What if I should do the same?” The hand he lay upon Sif’s cheek was slender, soft of skin, with long emerald nails that came to a point. The transformation went only to the elbow, but it was all he needed. He hinted at scratching, and Sif’s inhale was as sharp as any blade.

“A clever trick,” She said, unable to conceal how he’d excited her. It was in her eyes, in her quick breaths, in the scant air between their naked bodies.

Feeling capricious, Loki took his hand away to examine it in the distance of their lips. He twisted the spider-like digits, admiring the silken new skin and the sheen upon the deadly talons. “Yes, I thought so as well. I had imagined it would be harder to achieve, given the emphasis society places on our differences. Yet to the cosmos, we are but matter. It is no more difficult to create this delicate form than it is to become a python, or a dwarf, or—”

“Loki,” Sif interjected, “You may ramble all you like, but do so touching me, or by my sword—”

Loki slung his ankle over her calf. “How’s this?”

“Idiot.” Sif grabbed for his hand, but he twisted free and slid the backs of his long nails down her side. Her skin shivered beneath his touch, and the warrior all but melted.

“You must know how enjoyable it is to embrace one’s feminine side.” Those fingers mapped the familiar crest of her hip, and those nails raked through her curls. What it felt like to her, he could only guess, but Sif pushed her mound into his waiting hand with a feral moan. A quick thought reshaped the talons so they receded to the nail bed. “Is that what you’d like, Sif?” He whispered, before _his_ voice became _hers;_ her own velvet, breathy, rasping voice. “To embrace my feminine side?”

 

* * *

  

One drink, that was all Silva would accept. Certainly, Loki had agreed. It was a simple matter to enchant her glass so she never noticed it refill. For all she could drink, Silva would retain her aesir tolerance for spirits. Loki just needed time. She’d loosened Silva up with stories of her life as a dancer, inquired as to how she entered the teaching profession, and feigned agreement on some political scandal. The smile came easier to Silva’s face than Sif’s, though the corners of her eyes creased the same way. It spurred Loki on to be more charming, going so far as being the butt of jokes, so long as it made her laugh.

“I can’t believe,” Silva chuckled over her chardonnay, “I’ve talked more to a stranger in one night than with anyone in weeks. Is that sad? It sounds sad.”

Loki toyed with the straws in her own drink. “It’s impossible to picture a woman like you lonely. I’m sure you must beat the suitors back.”

Silva let out a snort and covered her nose as if wine were about to shoot forth. “Hardly! I’m way too intimidating for most people. This one time, someone at work tapped my back and I swung my elbow right into their nose. That’s not a great way to make friends.”

“Cowards, then, the lot of them. You’re better off without them.” Her answering hum was noncommittal. “Why? Do you want friends?”

“Of course,” Silva said with round eyes, “Doesn’t everyone?”

Slumping backwards and rolling her eyes, Loki said, “In so much as people can be relied upon, I suppose. I’ve found that nobody holds my interests as high as I do. Friends can be,” She oscillated, “Good to have around, until what _you_ want conflicts with what _they_ want. Then… everyone looks out for,” She held up a single finger and mouthed, _Number one_.

“That’s cynical,” Silva replied, with a soft half-smile that bled fondness into her tone. “If you’re such a misanthropist, why invite me out at all?”

“There are some people worth braving humanity for.” Silva laughed again, and Loki leaned forward. “I have a question for you, Silva, if you would indulge me with a thoughtful answer.” She matched her posture, and the reduced distance ratcheted the intimacy.

“I make no promises, but I’ll do my best, Lucy.”

“Are you happy?”

Her smile flickered. “Seriously?”

“Deadly.”

Silva threw back the wine in one gulp.

“That’s the hardest question there is, you know. The answer is always supposed to be yes. If you’re unhappy, then something must be fixed. There must be some combination of factors that could combine to make you happy, you just have to figure out what those are. It’s almost your responsibility to make yourself happy.” She pushed the glass away from herself. “But I have tried. I have a job that fulfills me, an apartment I can afford, I eat well, I exercise, I mingle with my coworkers and neighbors, and I read newspapers. I should have everything figured out, but I’m not happy.” Silva made an odd expression then, one Loki’d never seen before; her lip quirked up, in a manner one might call sheepish or apologetic.

“Damn,” Loki cursed, dropping her head into her palm. “You couldn’t make it easy, could you?”

Silva jerked backward. “Excuse me?”

“You might have faded into Midgardian obscurity, while our people sang your praises to Valhalla. To Hel with Thor and the peasants, the Avengers, and all that. But no, you’re unhappy, and damn my weak heart, I...”

She jumped to her feet, grabbing at her coat. “Fuck, you’re crazy, I should’ve known.”

“Apologies,” Loki said in advance, and with a burst of speed she took Silva’s face in hand and kissed her hard. Her mouth was warm and solid, and met Loki’s with practiced ease. The breath burned in Loki’s lungs as she released the memories of another life. The other woman gasped, and Loki offered a soothing lick, before she was wrenched away. Stumbling back a pace, Loki took in the new person before her.

She pressed her thumbs to her temples, her eyes tightly shut, until they sprang open and the hunter’s gaze found her. “Loki,” Sif growled, as she had a thousand times before. It brought a highly inappropriate smile to her face.

“Hello, Sif, it’s wonderful to—”

Sif threw Loki through the nearby window.

 

* * *

 

Relations with Vanaheim were as good as they’d been in millennia, helped in no small part by Hogun’s prominence in the Warriors Three. The warrior would duck his head bashfully if this was mentioned to him, but it was the truth. When Odin and Frigga announced a feast in Hogun’s honor, Thor had clapped their friend on the back and declared it long overdue. For his part, Loki suspected a more political motive, and his suspicions were rewarded the night of the banquet. 

The delegation from Vanaheim was large and lavish and consisted of royals and courtiers and very eligible brides. The first Odin and Frigga entertained at the high table, the second Loki deftly talked circles around, and the third were monopolized by Fandral and a clueless Thor. The man of honor himself was surrounded by Sif and Volstagg in quiet conversation, as the warrior no doubt found ideal. As the night dragged on, Loki took an opportunity to extract himself from the dignitaries, and went to the small table where the three sat.

“How many scandals have you counted tonight?” He asked as he eased himself into the bench beside Volstagg.

“27,” Sif answered, “In total.”

“Fandral has insulted six women,” Hogun reported, “And Thor has unknowingly sparked a feud between two ladies of previously friendly houses.”

“No proposals or talk of bride price yet?” All three answered negatively, and Loki rubbed his hands. “Then we’ve no cause for concern. At worst, we shall see how these ladies compare to our Sif in a skirmish.” Volstagg chortled, clapping his back with jarring force.

“No maidens vie for the dark prince then?” Volstagg asked, ignorant of what insult Loki took from it. He very carefully did not glance at Sif.

“My chastity is safe, never fear my friend.”

“A pity for the sorceress, then,” Volstagg replied, lifting his tankard and angling it across the hall. Following his gaze, Loki saw the voluptuous figure of Lorelei. Possessing a noble title, but little in wealth, she was unremarkable in court. Though he kept apprised of other magic wielders, and Lorelei was reportedly talented. He’d been marginally aware of her interest in him, but was certain it was tactical rather than romantically inclined.

“Why, Volstagg, are you playing at matchmaker?” The lone married man of their company shrugged. With this disinterest, Loki chanced to look at Sif. She was angled away from him, Hogun murmuring into her ear. A light snicker escaped her pursed lips.

Very well, if his few prospects were so humorous, he would give her something to laugh at. Loki rose from their place and meandered through the banquet hall. Reaching Lorelei’s side, he surprised her with a bow, and his Silvertongue enraptured her in moments.

The excuse became truthful, as he found much to discuss with the sorceress. Frigga had long been Loki’s sole tutor, knowing more arcane arts than even the brightest scholars, but Lorelei’s lessons were far different. Common women learning sedir crafted the most ingenious spells out of the barest materials. Loki found himself enthralled by the discussion, until the scent of leather and sweets tickled his nose.

“Loki,” The Lady Sif greeted informally from over his shoulder, “Might I have a moment?” He twisted away from the other woman to examine his lover. The impropriety was staggering, to approach a Prince and demand his time, as despite the wording her entire posture exuded confidence that he would acquiesce. The malicious part of him, the majority really, wished to refuse, turn his back and continue conversing with… oh he could hardly care who he’d been speaking to. Sif held a glint in her eye he so rarely witnessed outside the battlefield or bedroom.

“Very well,” He glanced back at, right that was it, Lorelei and told her, “A pleasure speaking with you, we shall have to do so again.” The sorceress was no fool, and hid her offense well.

“Yes, my Prince.” She rose from the seat and shimmered off somewhere. Loki could not have cared if the fate of Asgard depended on it, because Sif swung into Lorelei’s vacant seat and stole a swig from his tankard.

“You’re lucky I’m not a possessive man,” Loki remarked, tracking the drops of mead that beaded on her lips.

Her hair fell in downy curtains and her shawl was embroidered with silver, but Sif wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “How forthright of you, Loki.”

“I’m not the one who abandoned subtlety when she all but ejected the competition.”

Her glance was thrown as accurately as his daggers. “Then there is a contest.”

Covertly he assessed their position. Their small table was on the outskirts of the hall, and the only people within earshot were of lower standing, and drunk besides. Even should they remember enough to repeat the next day, Loki had his ways of discrediting them. Still, he took caution with his body, knowing that a shrewd eye could read much in the way two people spoke to each other.

“What if someone should see us together?” He added, hoping this would convince her, “What if _Thor_?”

“If nothing else, are we not friends?” Sif hotly replied. “Cannot one friend come to speak with another?”

“You never would before.” His bitterness was not quite stifled.

“Because I thought it unwelcome!”

“It is unwelcome now.” Sif’s scowl was wounded, but Loki could do little to soothe her. “This secrecy is for your benefit, Sif. The ascension from peasant to warrior-noble is not irreversible. Should you lose Odin’s favor—”

“Lies. You speak of Odin’s favor, but it is yours I’ve lost.”

“No.” For all that he was skilled with words, he knew their power, knew that saying more would only betray him. So he held firm in his denial with his expression alone, and Sif, clever, brilliant Sif, eased back, her ire fading.

“I am not made of shadows as you are. It is trying to be your shameful secret.”

“Listen to yourself. If anyone is shameful here, surely it’s me.” Sif shook her head and glanced away; had she arguments to refute him, she would have said, which said it all. Her shoulder was close enough to brush his formal cowl. “What is it you want, Sif? Why did you find me all full of fire? Do you wish to be crowned Princess?”

As predicted, the warrior balked. “I am no one’s wife.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? There are reasons we meet in the dark, reasons I for one have not forgotten. You are a climbing warrior in the heart of Asgard, and I its second Prince, and it would be ruinous to both our futures to lay waste because of petty jealousies.” The burning look Sif seared him with could do just that, incinerate all her ambitions and his machinations, should he allow it. By the ancestors, Loki wanted to allow it. She could have no idea the raw, unfettered, unarticulated want she inspired in him.

“I could kiss you,” Sif declared, “I could lay my claim upon your lips so that none may dispute it. Let them talk, Loki, you who are so good at twisting words, but let them know that you are mine.” The passion in him curdled. Cruelty had never been Sif’s weapon of choice but she wielded it well.

“You could never,” He snarled, incensed. “I know you, Sif. You could not kiss the wicked Loki under the eyes of Odin, and Thor, your friends and strangers alike. Your pride holds you by the hair when asked to bow, and no matter how I coax your submission with my tongue, the Lady Sif will not show weakness to the likes of me.”

The moment hovered like a soap bubble, shining and bright and all too soon, it broke. Sif’s shoulders straightened as she angled back, putting a more platonic distance between them. To Loki’s disgust, he felt the unmistakable stir of disappointment in his stomach. Absurd, to be disappointed was to have hoped, and as he maintained, Sif was ever predictable.

“You’re wrong,” She told him, but it was utterly vain when she’d just proven him right.

“You cannot be free and drag me by a lead.” In the words, he could taste the remorse he would no doubt feel tomorrow. That statement held more finality than he’d intended. To soften it, he murmured, “Come to the garden tonight, I shall let us into my room, we can discuss this more there.”

Sif stood, a sudden uncoiling of tension, and looked down at him. “I think not, not if it might be otherwise occupied.” She disappeared into the revellers before he could think of a way to make her stay.

 

* * *

 

“My king,” Heimdall announced his presence. The dark of the void beyond allowed his reflection in the window. The watcher had yet to clean up his rugged appearance, perhaps he was keeping it. At least one of them should be pleased by their new hairstyle, Thor mused.

“Enter,” He granted him, and Heimdall joined him in solemn contemplation. When on Asgard, he’d so rarely taken the time to merely sit still and look up at the stars. There’d been so many opportunities, and he’d simply passed them up. Why? Now there was no way. Perhaps he could ask Loki when he returned. Hazily he recalled that part of Loki’s lessons had included star charts. Maybe his brother could make the sky for him.

“I can see my sister once again,” Heimdall told him, drawing Thor out of his thoughts.

“Then Loki came through,” He said with no small relief. It wasn't that he doubted Loki's abilities... more like he doubted his integrity. Which flooded him with guilt, but Thor had enough to be guilty about lately.

“I don’t know how he did it. His secrets trouble me.”

“Yes, and they should have troubled me sooner. Still, the past is past. I vowed to myself to take each action of his as they come, the good and the bad.”

“I…” The watcher hesitated in a way that surprised Thor.

“I may be king,” He told the taller man, as earnestly as he knew how, “But you are the closest Asgard has to a trusted advisor. For all that I love Loki, he is impossible to trust. So please, always, feel free to speak your mind.”

Heimdall inclined his head. “I am pleased that your heart is as open as when you were a boy, and doubly pleased at the strength of your resolve. From here on out, your duty is as king first, brother second. It is a challenge I understand very well.”

Thor recalled suddenly the distant way Sif spoke of her brother. Heimdall’s sight had been utilized all of her life, but he could not remember a single time he’d asked if she spent much time with him. What a thoughtless child he must’ve been, Thor cursed for the hundredth time since his banishment to Midgard, and how lucky to have made any friends at all.

He shook his head, and attempted to make right the long ago wrong. “She is alright, then? On Earth?”

The edge of Heimdall’s mouth turned up, a rare show of feeling. “Currently? She is furious.” Thor laughed, for if Sif could be angry then she must be herself. He could picture her reaction to Loki's appearance as clear as if it was performed in front of him by Loki's actors. After indulging Thor's humor for a moment, the watcher added, “I’m unsure if even Loki can calm her down.”

That sobered him enough to ask, “You knew?”

“There were times when I sought my sister and was blind to her. Few had that power, and Sif was not one of them.”

Quietly, Thor nodded. He wondered what he could say about his brother and shield-brother’s relationship that would… what? Ease Heimdall’s mind? Heimdall didn’t seem perturbed, clearly he’d accepted this as fact long ago.

He’d had less time. He knew less of when and how long the two had been together than Heimdall did, surely. In fact, he’d never exchanged words on the subject with either party.

One night Thor ventured to the edge of the broken bifrost and found his vigil occupied. Sif looked at him with shining eyes and Thor sat beside her in silence. They mourned together, for lovers and brothers, without a word.

“Thor,” Heimdall’s voice was but a whisper, filled with fear that broke his memory. A shadow rose from the bottom of the window, and the two watched a ship easily twenty times larger than the Grandmaster’s vessel hover menacingly before them.

“Find Bruce and Valkyrie,” Thor ordered in a low voice. “We’re going to need a bigger boat.”

 

* * *

 

“Listen to me, Sif, I understand your frustrations—”

“Lying, traitorous, little snake!” Sif brandished the parking meter in her hands and Loki leapt back to avoid being skewered.

“You're causing a bit of a scene, darling.”

“How many times, Loki!” She pounced and the pavement cracked where she stood not seconds ago. “How many times must we mourn you only to learn you were laughing at us!” The parking meter flew like a javelin, and in dodging, Sif landed a right cross upon her side. Or, where her side would have been, had the illusion not flickered out at the impact. Sif whirled about with a roar. “Tricks and shades and _lies_ , it's all you are, and I'm done with it!”

“If only that could be so,” Loki sighed, revealing her position behind a parked car. Sif fell into her defense stance, braced to deflect daggers or magic, but Loki volleyed none.

After a notable hesitation, she demanded, “Change back.”

Loki looked down at herself; in all the excitement she’d forgotten her gender. “Why, have you missed that old face?”

“It’s far easier to hate you as a man.”

“Then I think I’ll take whatever armor I can get.”

There was nothing to telegraph her intent before Sif charged. Loki danced to the side, but Sif’s course stayed, and her eyes widened to see Sif hoist the vehicle over her head.

“Now, Sif,” She cautioned, backing up slowly, “Your feelings are valid, but don't do something you may regret. I am the only one with news of Asgard, I know where Thor is, I can take you to him.”

“Your brother lives?” Sif asked, bracing the car with both arms above her. Choosing to mentally add _adopted_ , Loki nodded. “And Asgard is well?” Her hesitation was brief, but Loki again nodded. The platitude Heimdall kept repeating, people not a place, may as well be good for something. “The Allfather?” Damn. There was no point in a lie that would only increase her ire when discovered.

“I left him on Earth, the same as you,” Loki replied with a sliver of truth. For a moment, it seemed there would be peace. Then Sif heaved and the car was sailing towards her.

Abruptly, Loki was tumbling across the sidewalk, and it was neither due to her magic or the car. For an instant, all she saw was long black hair, and her confused mind imagined it was the Lady Sif of old. But the face was too young, the eyes too blue, and she was glaring across the street at the true Sif.

“Calm your tits, lady!” The girl called out, rising from her crouch to offer Loki a hand up. “You okay, ma’am?”

Loki wasn’t sure what to take offense to first, the disrespect to Sif, the rescue, or _ma’am_. “Get out of the way,” She snarled, jumping up without help. The warrior was occupied searching for a new weapon, and Loki assessed. Or attempted to, because the girl started chattering.

“Hey, chill, I’m just trying to help!”

“No one needs your help, this is between the two of us.”

“Oh my god, rule one of dating a super, avoid the public breakup!”

“Leave, Midgardian,” Sif shouted, stooped low over the pavement, “You don’t know what you’re in the middle of!”

“How bad is this?” The girl asked, “Very, or _eh_?”

Loki rolled her eyes. “For you, extremely.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Sif called. Standing, Loki could see what she held, a manhole cover braced like a shield and twisted bits of a mailbox lid in the other. “This is between Loki and myself!”

“I... wait, Loki?” The girl repeated, for the first time appropriately cowed. “Isn’t that the alien terrorist guy?”

The limit had been reached.

“Fine! You want to hate me?” The svelte beauty melted into the familiar aesir male form, resplendent in gold and green, cape billowing, horns high. He reared back, calling upon primal forces. “Join the fucking club!” The blast of sedir struck the manhole cover, and the weak metal crumbled, leaving Sif defenseless.

From beside him, he heard a quiet, “Holy shit.”

“You want to waste time fighting?” Sif rolled out of the path of his next fire. “You want to cause some pointless property damage?” Sparks flew as a crossing light caught the blast. “You want to explain this to Thor’s idiot allies?” Crudely fashioned projectiles sailed toward him, Loki swatting them as easily as a fly. “Never let it be forgotten that _I_ tried to take the high road!”

Propelled by a burst of fire, Loki launched himself at Sif. Where he would have dodged, she dug in her heels, and they met with a low boom. Her feet skid, kicking up gravel, as she grappled him. She held his glowing hands by the wrists, struggling to angle them away.

“Yield,” He grunted, no real order but a taunt.

Her answer could not change; “Never!” Sif made to haul him over her shoulder, but Loki twisted her grip so that he took her rolling with him. Her back hit the pavement, and where a lesser combatant would be winded, Sif merely groaned but kept strong. They wrestled on the ground for a moment, Loki feigning attempts to take her neck, before he decided enough was enough.

“I'd hoped—” He spoke between gasping breaths and pained grunts, “To explain—the shock—but no matter—on your own—damn—head!”

In its pocket dimension, the tesseract answered his call. The blue glow infused him and spread through her body, and Sif met his gaze with round surprise. In an instant, Midgard fell away, and Loki and Sif were clinging to each other through blackness. Then came the moment when their lungs cried for air, and just before it became unbearable, they emerged into reality.

Except where there should be light, it was dark, and where there should be artificial gravity, they were weightless, and where they needed to draw breath, there was void. On instinct, Loki pulled the tesseract’s power around them like a shroud, and created a bubble to sustain them. Sif gasped in the welcome oxygen. She released all but his hand, twisting to lock their fingers, as the two took in their surroundings.

At first, all he could make out was dust, but the glow of the tesseract slowly illuminated the closest objects, which Loki recognized to be flotsam. There was a twisted beam there, a glitter of glass, the husk of what he imagined used to be a thruster. His heart seized in his chest.

“Where are we?” Sif whispered, but it was deafening in the silence.

Loki let out a whimpering sigh. “Not again.”

 

* * *

 

The first time Loki ever desired Sif, they were not even half a century old. Their bodies grew in fits and spurts, and this would be the last year Sif towered over them.

After a day spent in the hot sun chasing trolls, trolls they never found because they did not exist in the forests behind the palace, they came to the riverbank for a swim. It wasn't unusual for the trio to strip down with each other, even out of childhood as they technically were. Thor teased her breasts, saying it was no wonder she required new plate armor every season. Sif retorted that at least she’d never crushed her balls on a horse, and Loki cackled at the flush upon his brother’s face.

Thor ran ahead and leapt into the water with a hollering whoop. Glancing over her shoulder at him with a wry grin, Sif followed, her shriek of joy ringing in his ears. Loki stood atop the ledge, looking down at his friends splashing, a quiet moment before they beckoned him down. At last he jumped into the cool embrace of Asgard’s rivers.

It wasn't her nakedness that drew forth the first spark of longing. It happened much later, as Loki lazed on the sandy bank. Thor and Sif devised some competition he saw no point in joining, so he let his mind wander. There was much his tutors were pushing on him to learn, but Frigga had carefully dangled the possibility of private lessons with herself. The notion had become obsession. Loki imagined what secrets his mother might impart on him.

His musing was interrupted, which he'd grown to expect, but the manner was unique. Sif crawled, exhausted, through the sand to flop on her belly beside him. She said nothing for a moment, merely breathed with her face turned his way, her eyes serenely shut. Loki looked to the water, where Thor was floating on his back, equally sedate.

“Did he win?” Loki asked, though he couldn't remember the game.

“Of course not. We called it a draw.” She hummed then, apparently giving in to sleep.

The pedantic side of him couldn't resist needling her. “You know you're covered in sand and dirt now?”

A single eyelid rose to regard him, then fell once more. “Then I shall wash again. Easily fixed.” She settled herself more comfortably, resting her cheek on her crossed arms, and murmured, “Hush, Loki.”

He obeyed her without question, and as Sif slept, he thought of nothing but the curve of her shoulder rising with each breath. This was the moment that began it all, when Loki realized he could be content with nothing more than her beside him.

There was no end. Not when she left him waiting in the garden for the last time. Not after countless lovers and screaming matches and icy silences. Not when he glared down at her far too knowing eyes, Gungnir in hand that first intoxicating time. Not when she held a knife to his throat in a promise he didn't doubt.

She was a shard healed over in his chest that ached late at night. Just as Thor was a limb he could not bear to sever, even to escape his terrible history, so was she as permanent. No matter what they both wished.

 

* * *

 

They reappeared on the grassy plateau. He could not say why he took them there, except that Odin told him to remember it. For her part, Sif hardly noticed their new surroundings. As soon as she was free of the tesseract’s bubble, she stalked away from him, only to return spitting fire and demanding explanations. Subdued, he gave them to her, sitting on the grass and speaking to his hands. Much of the sorry story he glossed over, such as his actions on Sakaar, but it mattered not.

Her pacing had not slowed, by the time he got to the end where they now resided, if anything she built up steam. “Where is Thor?!” Sif spat.

“Why does everyone think I am a witch! I am not, nor am I your brother, I don’t have the power to locate people across realms. The tesseract was locked to the ship’s signature, that’s where it took us. At least, where most of the ship was.”

“No jests, Loki! That was your brother! Our people!”

“I sensed no corpses in the wreckage, Sif,” He explained gently, “We have no reason to think them dead.”

“Then what’s happened?!”

“I assure you, I don't know,” He said. Not a lie; suspicion was not knowing. “The ship was attacked, that much is clear. What remains of Asgard is likely imprisoned.”

“This Grandmaster,” Sif posited, spinning on her heel to pace the other direction, “Could he have pursued you?”

“Very doubtful, our escape was impeccable. I think Sakaar crippled for the time being, although…” He tilted his head, considering, “Time did move at an independent pace in that realm, the presence of so many rips across dimensions. It is not impossible.”

“Who else? Who else could have found Asgard at its weakest? Who should have the means and motive to take advantage of her?”

Loki’s Silvertongue was weighed like lead by one name. Keeping his gaze low, he said, “Asgard has many enemies. Before his reign of peace, Odin kept the other realms at bay with fear. He collected treasures much coveted across the galaxies. There are countless suspects.”

Had it been anyone else, they would have accepted this as truth, because it was. But he was not surprised when she lunged for him, knocking him to his back. Sif scrabbled for his neck, and he caught her hands, until he felt the slight press of a blade. He glanced down, and saw a slim knife, serrated for cutting meat, clenched in her fist. The bar, he realized too late; in the moment after she threw him through the window, she must have armed herself with the closest weapon. She’d concealed it this long, and as Loki went pliant beneath her, he felt begrudging pride.

Sif raised the tip of the knife to the hollow of his throat. “Who?” She growled.

“I know not—”

“Who,” She repeated, digging it in until the skin threatened to break, “Do you fear?”

Pain, he would long for pain, but with Sif at his throat and Thor lost, the threat didn’t feel so real. So he released this secret on a breath. “Thanos.”

Sif searched his eyes, and whatever she found made her sit up on her haunches. “The Infinity Stones. It is he—”

“Yes,” Loki answered, pushing up on his elbows so they were face to face, “For the last several years, yes.”

“Then Earth—”

“Yes.”

“The aether—”

“ _Yes_.”

“Loki—”

“I know.”

Her hand, the one without the knife, cradled his jaw. “We need help. This is not an enemy we can face alone.”

“This is not an enemy we should face at all,” He protested, yet he leaned into her hold. “We are but two, and he is an army unto himself. Not to mention his _actual army,_ which most likely now includes the last of Asgard.”

“We cannot do nothing,” Sif replied, her strictly delineated morals shining through. “If Thor is king, then it is my—”

“Don’t say it’s your duty,” Loki groaned. “I specifically tried to free you from this oppressive sense of _duty_.”

Her fingers slipped up his cheek and tugged hard on his ear. “Yes, and my life was empty for it, so don’t go praising yourself. _I_ will seek help from the Midgardians, and _I_ will seek out Thor, and _I_ shall challenge Thanos for the lives of our people. You may aid me, or you may not, but this is my path, Loki, there is no other.”

How simple, he thought. There were so many paths he saw for himself. A wise choice would be to arm her as best he could and bid her off on the quest. A coward’s choice would be to disappear and create a new life for himself, as he had for her, and take advantage of the anonymity to hide from his old master. A clever choice would be to accompany her and then seek refuge, bow beneath the power Thanos offered, and let Asgard perish as it perhaps deserved.

But only one path would keep Sif and Thor in his life, for as long as that life lasted.

In answer, he pressed close, and kissed her. His lips were quiet, tender, undemanding, and Sif opened with equal reverence. They waxed and waned, breathed in the same air and exhaled caresses to each other, and let the wind take any sounds away.

Sif drew back, though Loki kept his eyes closed, and she pet his long, unruly hair. She asked in a soft plea, “Why should we be cursed with such long lives and steadfast hearts?”

“Not so long,” Loki answered at the same volume, “Not after this.”

“I have long wished we could be allies again, but I would never wish for this.”

“No, nor I.”

 

* * *

 

The street was totaled. Long gouges ran across the street, with metal bent and twisted as if ripped apart, and a car was lightly on fire. _Lightly_. The best witness they had to the event was a teenage girl who had apparently charged into the fray unarmed.

“Yeah, so,” She explained for the third time, “I pushed the lady out of the way, but she told me to get lost. Then the angry chick said something about Loki, and I thought I knew that name, and then the lady turned into a dude and started shooting fire or something.”

Clint nodded along, though it hadn’t gotten any clearer since the first telling. He was in an EMT’s uniform, ostensibly checking her for a concussion. Thankfully the girl had a mouth on her.

S.H.E.I.L.D.’s database named Lady Sif as a ‘friendly’, so when she appeared on the news reports, and cellphone footage, it hadn’t tripped any alarm bells. Didn’t seem to matter that she’d been committing tons of property damage, that was the way the system worked. To be fair, he probably did a lot of damage too, when he was on the job.

Loki though, Loki was different. Clint had a score to settle with Loki. Retirement, reshmirement. If this really was him, like the girl claimed, then they were in trouble. Banner was missing, presumed dead. Nat was underground. Rogers and Barnes were in the wind. Vision and Scarlet Witch had never dealt with the God, but they could be counted on to put up a fight. Thing was, if Loki was here, then there had to be a bigger picture, bigger than a spat with a fellow Asgardian.

“Why’d you get in the middle anyhow?” He asked, pressing a bandage to a shallow cut on her forehead, probably from kicked up gravel.

The girl gave him a look like he was crazy. “Uh, she was wailing on the lady? Someone needed to get in there. I just happened to be in midtown, my dude, I’m just that lucky.”

Her response brought a smile to his face. God he loved _the youth._

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Kate Bishop, and I’m not your kid.”

“You looking for a job?”

Her gaze flicked up and down over him. “What, like an EMT internship? I don’t—”

A crackle of energy ripped through the air, and Clint whirled around, hand falling and drawing his gun on instinct. He leveled it at the faint blue outlines before they solidified into two familiar figures.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck,” Kate exclaimed behind him.

Loki took note of him first, raising his hands above his head, even if it was with a smirk. Lady Sif followed his gaze, but instead of pretending to be cowed, she strode purposely toward him.

“Hey!” He barked, “Stop right there!” She did, her brows drawing together in consternation.

“You are law enforcement here?” She asked. “I request an audience with your S.H.E.I.L.D., there is an urgent matter—”

“He is no mere officer,” Loki interrupted. His eyes danced with mischief as they regarded him. “Hawkeye, have you been grounded? Have they taken your arrows? Surely not on my account, so what have we missed?”

Clint’s aim never wavered from the God’s head. “You are a dangerous foreign power on American soil. Don’t test me.”

“Hawkeye,” Sif said, her voice elated as it sounded out the unfamiliar word, “Then you are one of Thor’s compatriots?”

“Yeah, and so are you, so why are you with this motherfucker?”

Sif said the one thing that probably could have kept Clint from wasting the trickster. “Thor is in danger, and Loki is the only one with the means to find him.”

His grip on the pistol tightened for a second, and then he dropped it. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, lowering his hands, “So if we might retire somewhere less public? I believe the Iron Man’s abode isn’t far. We have much to discuss.”

Clint shared a look with Sif. He had no reason to trust Loki, and her expression suggested she had even less. If he was their only option, then things had to be looking really bad for Thor right now.

A tentative voice broke the uneasy quiet as Kate piped up, “Can I come?”

 

 

 


End file.
